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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430347">won't be missed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esplodeyoface/pseuds/guess%20ill%20die'>guess ill die (Esplodeyoface)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eye Trauma, Gen, Isolation, Manipulation, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Time Skips, but the ship isn't the focus so it's not tagged lol, i got sad thinking about how elias was a human person before, peter lukas is there because they're between divorces, pre-jonah elias bouchard, so i wrote about how that happened to make other people sad too, warning for jonah magnus just in general, with no one to miss him</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 08:28:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430347</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esplodeyoface/pseuds/guess%20ill%20die</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Above all else, Elias wanted to do what was easy. He went into a history major because it had seemed easy, did just well enough to keep his allowance coming in every month, and graduated with a solid 2.8 GPA. He applied for a research job at the Magnus Institute of all places because it had seemed easy; how much real work would London’s most reputable crackpot factory actually have him do? Rifling through a library of esoteric nonsense to try and corroborate the crazy stories of drug addled conspiracy theorists hardly seemed like hard work, and the pay was shockingly decent for an entry level research position.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>won't be missed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>elias presumably had like. a life of some kind before Jonah norted him and the thought of that kind made me real sad so here. I wrote about it to make other people sad also.</p><p>aka Elias' No Good Very Bad Terrible Awful Possession</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Above all else, Elias wanted to do what was <em> easy </em> . He went into a history major because it had seemed easy, did just well enough to keep his allowance coming in every month, and graduated with a solid 2.8 GPA. He applied for a research job at the Magnus Institute of all places because it had seemed <em> easy </em> ; how much <em> real </em> work would London’s most reputable crackpot factory actually have him do? Rifling through a library of esoteric nonsense to try and corroborate the crazy stories of drug addled conspiracy theorists hardly seemed like hard work, and the pay was shockingly decent for an entry level research position.</p><p>He’d even met James Wright the day of his interview, very nearly slamming into the man as he tried to find his way back out to the lobby after faking enough interest in the supernatural to make it seem like he wanted the job for reasons other than weed money. Something about the way James Wright had looked at him made him feel uneasy, like he had to stand up straighter and do up the top button on his shirt, like the man knew his every motivation, and suddenly his plans to watch reruns of Charlie’s Angels while stoned out of his mind felt childishly inadequate.</p><p>But after a second of eye contact that dragged on for years, James simply smiled. “I look forward to working with you, Elias,” he had said, though Elias didn’t know how he knew his name.</p><p>He fell asleep on the couch, having gone through with his original evening plan, but he couldn’t help but feel uncharacteristically ashamed of it.</p><p>-</p><p>The next morning, Elias woke up to a thick envelope on the floor beneath his flat’s mail slot. His name neatly penned across the dull yellow paper, and beneath it a note to turn in all paperwork by Friday. No mailing address, no return address.</p><p>He threw the envelope down onto the kitchen table to look at later, busying himself with pouring a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. He chewed slowly, letting sugar and caffeine reactivate his brain as he stared at the envelope. It was obviously from the Magnus Institute. Where else could it be from? He didn’t get mail beyond the regular junk and his monthly allowance check. His address had definitely been on his application forms, probably so they could confirm residence or something, but that didn’t shake the unease that someone had definitely come to his flat in the middle of the night to deliver the paperwork by hand.</p><p>But, Elias mused, signing on to the Magnus institute meant his job search was over. He wouldn’t have to put in any more applications, or go to any more interviews, and really, any other academic career seemed like a lot more work than the Institute. Other available jobs would have him doing research into <em> actual </em> history, and would probably want him to put effort into papers and publications.</p><p>Elias clicked his tongue, chugged the sugary milk left over in his cereal bowl, and dug around the mess on the kitchen counters for a pen. It took a couple tries to find one that wasn’t dead, but soon enough he’d cleared a spot at the table and broke the seal on the envelope.</p><p>The whole process took two hours to finish, so much boring tax related nonsense and mind-numbing legal-ese that he found himself staring blankly at the tiny, dense blocks of text without taking anything in, hypnotically meaningless. Eventually, the mechanical process of signing wherever a blank lined called took over, and he just let himself. There wasn’t even a mention of drug-testing policies, so the rest was relatively meaningless. Probably protecting the Institute form lawsuits if someone’s research got nicked. Suing always seemed like too much effort, so whatever loopholes the contract was closing were irrelevent to him anyway.</p><p>It was only when he reached the final page that Elias was knocked out of his signing-stupor. A cursory glance at the words let him know it was some kind of congratulatory drivel, welcoming him on as an employee of the Magnus Institute. Whatever. What really caught his attention was what sat in the upper left hand corner of the page. It was the Institutes logo, easily recognizable by the simple, striking font, set beneath the image of an eye.</p><p>It was stylized, clean, just the outline with a dark pupil set in the middle. He’d seen it plenty of times before. Hell, it was emblazoned on the side of the Institute building itself, on every business card and advertisement he’d seen. But for some reason, as he stared at the logo, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the eye was staring <em> back </em>.</p><p>Elias shuddered, glancing behind himself on instinct. Nothing. Just the messy flat. He could hear his roommate snoring away. The blinds on the window were shut firmly.</p><p>He probably just needed to smoke. He’d never gotten paranoid before, but the morning had been weird enough to warrant it. Quickly, he signed, dated, and crammed the stack of papers back into the envelope. </p><p>The feeling of being watched eased, but it didn’t fully go away</p><p>-</p><p>After the initial flurry of training and the struggle of reacclimating himself to waking up at 8 in the morning, the job fell into a relatively predictable routine. Elias was placed as a research assistant to an older man named Harold Sharp, short and stocky with an aversion to eye contact and a stutter, but who’s name had shown up on dozens of papers on the subject of folklore. Elias didn’t interact much with the guy, a lot of his instructions being given on post-its stuck to his desk, instructing him to find this or that book, or find these or those instances of something-or-other. It was actually a lot more interesting of a job than he’d initially thought. The library was an ever growing collection of esoterica, organized meticulously over two hundred years. Turns out, the Archival team down in the basement had to deal with most of the loonies and users, so the information he dealt with felt much more important.</p><p>Elias <em> had </em> been right, though. It wasn’t the hardest job. Time consuming, sure, but he wasn’t the one coming up with the theses and connecting the strings. That was all Harold Sharp. He just had to dig out anything that seemed relevant.</p><p>He was over a month into the job when he finally got to properly meet with some of his coworkers.</p><p>“Harold’s been running you ragged, huh?” Said a light voice from behind him in the break room one afternoon.</p><p>Elias started, slopping creamer onto counter instead of his already overly sweet coffee. “Oh- shit-”</p><p>“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I-”</p><p>He and the woman grabbed for the papertowells at the same time, ending with the whole roll being knocked over into the puddle of creamer. Elias gave a laugh, unspooling the towels until he’d reached an unsaturated layer, and used the wad to mop up the mess. “One of those days, huh?”</p><p>The woman gave a laugh, too, seeming a bit relieved at his good humor. “Clearly. Are you done with the creamer?”</p><p>He nodded as he threw away the lump of soggy towels, and the woman tucked the bottle back into the fridge.</p><p>“I’m Sonya, by the way.” She introduced herself, and Elias looked over to her properly.</p><p>He’d seen her around a couple times before, he realized. Strange as it was, he recognized her braid more than anything. It reached down past her hip, and though she wasn’t particularly tall, he vaguely remembered thinking about how much of a pain it had to be to keep untangled. Beyond the braid, Sonya was really quite pretty, warm dark skin and large dark eyes. “Elias,” he responded with a grin. “You been working here long?”</p><p>“Four years,” Sonya said as she put on the kettle. “Assistant to Kingsly this whole time.”</p><p>“Uh, Kingsly, Kingsly…” Elias frowned, trying to recall who she was talking about.</p><p>“Big guy with the weirdly high voice?” She suggested, and Elias snapped his fingers.</p><p>“Oh yeah, I know him! Sort of.”</p><p>Sonya laughed again, a light, pretty sound that Elias decided he quite liked. “I’ve been meaning to introduce myself to you for a while, but you’ve always been buried in the stacks, and I never saw fit to interrupt. It’s nice to finally meet you.”</p><p>“Oh, next time you see me, don’t be afraid to cause a distraction.” He leaned against the counter and took a swig of his coffee. “I’m mostly just hunting down whatever books I’m told to, or photocopying sections he wants”</p><p>“Harold’s really got you running all over the place, huh?”</p><p>“I don’t mind much, really. I’m not the one who has to make that stuff make sense.”</p><p>Sonya snorted. “Sounds like busywork to me.”</p><p>“What about you? What’s your specialty?”</p><p>“Latin,” she pulled a mug down from the cupboard and dropped in a tea bag as she spoke. "I have a degree in linguistics. Right now I’ve been assigned an old book on demonology to translate into English. Not alone, obviously, I wouldn’t trust a translation done by a single person and neither should anyone else, but it’s been keeping me busy.”</p><p>“Sounds like you enjoy it.”</p><p>“I do. It’s all very fascinating, being one of the first people in centuries to read some of these things.”</p><p>Elias drained the last of his coffee, tossing the mug into the dishwasher. “Speaking of, I ought to get back to work. We should go out for drinks some time, though.”</p><p>Sonya smled, as she poured boiling water into her mug. “I’d like that a lot. See you!”</p><p>-</p><p>“Good afternoon, Elias. Please, have a seat.”</p><p>In three years of working at the institute, this was the first time Elias had been inside James Wright’s office. He supposed he was grateful for that, having done enough work and stayed far enough under the radar to avoid needing a conversation with the Big Man, but now he stood awkwardly in the doorway, shuffling his feet against the dark green carpet as he took in the room. The large, dark wood desk was layered with neat stacks of paperwork, a few notebooks and ledgers, and a desk lamp with a lampshade that looked like some kind of replica of a much older style. The chairs had the same quality to them, new looking but in a style that definitely hadn’t been around for centuries. On the wall behind James Wright sat a portrait, a smaller replica of one that hung in the main lobby of the Institute, depicting Jonah Magnus himself. Something about that portrait suddenly struck him as wrong, something in the eyes, but before he could pin it down, James gave a polite cough.</p><p>“Please, sit.”</p><p>Elias jumped and quickly sat down in one of the chairs, rubbing his hands over his thighs nervously. “You, uh, you wanted to see me, Mr. Wright?”</p><p>He waved his hand dismissively, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Do just call me James.”</p><p>“Uh, right. James, then.”</p><p>“I called you up here to discuss your recent performance within the Institute.”</p><p>Elias winced, knowing immediately that he was about to be sacked. He’d accidentally packed a pot brownie in his lunch the other day, instead of one of the perfectly safe, store bought ones. Needless to say, he’d downed a whole edible, and an hour later, he didn’t remember anything. He knew Sonya had taken him home, because he regained lucidity in her flat. Once she’d finished laughing at him, she had told him she got him out of there before anyone important enough to fire him had noticed that he was in fact stoned stupid, and not just sick.</p><p>Word must have gotten around, though, because now someone important enough to fire him definitely knew.</p><p>A sparkle of dark amusement played across James’ face, like he knew exactly what was going through Elias’ mind. “Oh, don’t be so nervous, Elias,” he said, lacing his fingers together atop his desk and leaning forward. “You aren’t about to be fired.”</p><p>“I’m… not?” Elias asked, trying to keep the disbelief from his voice.</p><p>James chuckled, shaking his head. “Certainly not. In fact, I’ve received glowing accolades from the researchers you’ve assisted.”</p><p>Elias let himself relax back into the chair just a bit, a bewildered smile coming across his face. “Is that so? I just do what they ask me to, y’know?”</p><p>“Oh, but you do it remarkably well. You have a knack for navigating the library and archives here at the Institute. Harold even related that you requested for some translations that were instrumental to his latest research. Translations he had not asked after.”</p><p>Elias shrugged, rubbing his thumb over the carved armrest of his seat. An almond shape with a pit in the center. “Yeah? It was just a hunch.” He couldn’t have told anyone how he’d decided that the nondescript Polish manuscript was important. It was an old thing, and from how it stuck to the shelf as he pulled it down, it hadn’t been read in a long time. There was just this… overwhelming need to reach out and pull it down, the crawling sensation of being watched becoming so powerful that he nearly dropped to his knees. His ears had been ringing, the world going black at the edges as he flipped through the old handwritten pages. For a moment, he’d felt so compromised he’d worried that he’d taken something without realizing it, but as soon as he flipped to one specific page, the pressure inside his head alleviated. He didn’t know what he was looking at, so he brought the book to someone who knew Polish for translation.</p><p>He only stopped feeling like he was being watched when he received the translated pages, and read them over. It wasn’t anything too spectacular. Something about a fire raveging the author’s village and her insistence that it was demonic in nature, but Harold had practically thrown a party when he presented his findings, praising him for his initiative.</p><p>It had been a weird few days, to say the least.</p><p>“Sometimes, a hunch is all you need, truly.” James seemed incredibly pleased, and Elias found that he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. James Wright’s stare was too much, too intense. He briefly wondered if the man even blinked. “Now, to the matter at hand. How would you like a promotion?”</p><p>Elias opened his mouth. He wanted to politely refuse, say he enjoyed his current job. A promotion likely meant harder work and more of it. He had enough pay, especially considering he was rooming with someone, and he liked being able to clock out right at five without consequence.</p><p>“I’d love that,” is what he wound up saying, the words sounding like they hadn’t come from him at all. Elias put his hand over his mouth, stunned for just a moment. “Wait-”</p><p>“Perfect,” James cut him off, his smile widening just a bit. It didn’t seem to reach his eyes. He opened a drawer in his desk, rifling through some things before pulling out a sheaf of papers. “The new position, will, of course, come with a pay raise. You’ll be working much more closely with our head researchers, the archivist Gertrude Robinson, and of course, myself. You’ll be traveling much more, hunting down resources, conducting interviews, finding answers that are not yet here in the Institute. Of course, all the details are in these papers here.” He tapped the stack. “Do have everything filled out and returned by Friday.</p><p>Elias felt numb, mutely taking the papers and heading out of the office before he even realized he was moving.</p><p>A promotion. He really should have felt happier, right?</p><p>-</p><p>The promotion did what it promised. Elias was regularly sent all over the country, from ghost sighting to library to university to hunting down witnessesses to esoterica shop and back again. After three months of barely stepping foot in his own flat, Elias decided to find some other renter and move out, securing the cheapest studio apartment he could. It didn't matter how crappy the place was, since he wasn’t going to be staying there much anyway. His already distant relationship with his parents had dried up once he got his own income and no longer needed an allowance, but now he barely had time to think about them, much less ring up his mum and have a stilted ten minute conversation about nothing.</p><p>The only two people he really had much contact with were James and Sonya. Whenever he was back in London, she was the first person he’d seek out, even before James or whichever researcher had sent him on this goose chase in the first place. He’d pop into her office with a tea, they’d chat for about ten minutes, then he’d have to go deliver his findings and she’d return to whatever mystical text she was translating. Inevitably, they’d always go out for dinner and drinks, leaving at five o’clock sharp, and then back to her place for the night.</p><p>Elias wouldn’t call what they were doing “dating”.  He figured there had to be some kind of consistency that neither of them seemed to have anymore for that to be the case. She had been promoted recently, as well, though she phrased it more as though James had made a position specifically for her, having been so impressed by her translation work.</p><p>“If the raise wasn’t so good,” she groused one night, smelling like an intoxicating mix of perfume and rum, “I’d have quit ages ago.”</p><p>Elias couldn’t help but agree. The last two years after promotion had been exhausting, but the benefits in any comparable job were such a downgrade that he found himself staying.</p><p>Whatever they were, friends with benefits, a change of pace, a welcome distraction, he still liked it. Liked her. She was warm and comforting and funny and intelligent, and he found himself wishing on multiple occasions that they could be more.</p><p>It was on the rare occasion that he was in town for more than a few days at a time, and he’d found himself an unoccupied desk to sit down at and sort through the various projects he’d been assigned lately. Organization had never been his strong suit, but at least it gave him some sense of what he was doing. He could swear the stress was making him go gray already.</p><p>“Hey, Eli,” a light voice came from above his head.</p><p>He couldn’t help the smile that came across his face as he looked up at Sonya. She was leaning against the side of the desk, a half smile on her face.</p><p>“I like your earrings,” he said, reaching up with his pen and jingling the dangling gold chains.</p><p>She laughed swatting his hand away gently. “You have a moment?”</p><p>“Yeah, I do. Something wrong?”</p><p>“Not wrong, I just have some news I wanted to tell you.”</p><p>“Well, news me.”</p><p>She snorted at that, laughing again, and he grinned. “I’ve been offered a new job. At the Library of Von Closen.”</p><p>“Von… Closen- In Germany?” Elias stared up at her, a mix of bewilderment and awe. “Do you even know German?”</p><p>“That’s what’s you’re worried about?”</p><p>“I feel like it’s a pretty fair worry!”</p><p>She laughed again, reaching forward to drag her fingers through his hair. He’d let it grow out a little too long, he knew, but right now he just leaned into the touch. “I know some. But what’s important, is they have a whole proper department for translating texts. I’d have more support and resources there than I could ever get here. Of course, The Library works closely with the Magnus Institute, so I’d still be translating a bunch of supernatural gobbledygook, but…”</p><p>“So you’re taking the job.” It wasn’t a question. He felt his stomach drop at the idea. Germany wasn’t far away, of course, but with his own job the way it was…</p><p>“I’m- I’m considering it.” She said carefully, not meeting his eyes. Her tone was less like she was attempting damage control and more like she was trying not to become overwhelmed. He supposed speaking in hypotheticals made the whole thing easier to process at the moment. “It would be a great step for my career…”</p><p>“When would it start?”</p><p>“June.” In three months.</p><p>Elias had no place to tell her she should stay. They weren’t dating, he was barely ever around, and she was stressed beyond belief. There was nothing he could do, and no ground he could stand on. So, he swallowed down his protests and summoned up a smile, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “I think you’d do great.”</p><p>Three months later, James sent him on a “very important” research trip, that couldn’t be delayed no matter how incessantly Elias protested. He missed Sonya’s going away party, halfway to Wales at the starting time.</p><p>At least he’d managed to leave the gift at her desk before being carted to the station.</p><p>-</p><p>With Sonya gone, Elias’ social life really faded away. He hadn’t made many friends in the Institute besides her, and he was never in one place long enough to connect with anyone else. He had plenty of interactions with people, but he couldn’t help but feel… Isolated. The few times a month he was able to crash in his own flat, he would spend with a few rented movies, a pizza, and as high as he could possibly get. At this point, drugs were his only stress relief, and he didn’t get to use them very often anymore.</p><p>The one constant in his life at this point, was James Wright.</p><p>The man wasn’t <em>bad </em> company. He was intelligent, had a crazy knowledge of the supernatural, almost always had an answer for any questions Elias had. He didn’t exactly feel unsafe around the man. He’d been to enough parties to trust his gut when it came to blatantly dangerous people. There was just something so subtly <em> wrong. </em>It was almost like he knew… too much. Little details of his trips that he couldn’t remember relating to his boss due to their sheer mundanity, strange facts about whatever he’d been sent to research that Elias himself hadn’t uncovered.</p><p>The most unsettling thing about James Wright, though, were by far his eyes. <em> Something </em> about them made his skin crawl, made him feel like he was being… <em> dissected </em>. There was a hunger there totally different to the kind he’d seen in clubs. Elias had no doubt that James Wright wanted him. He just couldn’t pin down exactly what that want entailed.</p><p>So, when he was invited to James Wright’s flat for dinner, he had to take a breath before accepting.</p><p>“Wonderful,” James had said, clapping his hands together. “I hope you don’t mind if my husband joins us?”</p><p>Elias blinked. “Husband? I didn’t know you were married.”</p><p>“Ah, well, you know,” he waved his hand a bit dismissively and didn’t elaborate. Elias supposed he did know, laws being what they were and all.</p><p>“Right, no, I don’t mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean I frequented certain clubs in my Uni days, so,” he gave an awkward chuckle.</p><p>“Ah, of course.” James nodded, like Elias had just reminded him of something, despite Elias having come out to no one but Sonya. “Well, it will be a delight to have you over. Oh, bring a red wine, we’ll be having steaks for dinner.”</p><p>Elias just nodded mutely, trying not to consider he’d just been thinking about if he was supposed to bring wine or not.</p><p>-</p><p>James Wright’s flat was fancy and expensive, situated in downtown London, a few blocks away from some fancy theater Elias had never been to and a bunch of art museums. Looking around, the decor was almost enough to give him whiplash, oscillating between sleek, modern amenities and the same antique style furniture as his office at the Institute. Something about the furniture here looked distinctly older than the office chairs, though. Likely actual antiques, probably worth a fortune. With a word from James, he hung up his coat and sat down at the table.</p><p>Another man was sitting there already, James’ husband, he assumed, nursing a glass of whiskey and staring out the massive window that overlooked the city below.</p><p>“Uh, hello.” He said, coughing into his sleeve after to try and get rid of the awkward pitchiness.</p><p>If the man heard him, he didn’t do anything about it, just took a sip of whiskey.</p><p>“You- you must be James’ husband, then?” He tried again, louder this time.</p><p>The man did turn to him at that, regarding him cooly. “Presumably.” The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly, and Elias laughed politely. “So you’re the fabled Elias.” He continued, setting his drink down. “Interesting choice.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, what-”</p><p>“Peter Lukas.”</p><p>Elias blinked at that. “Peter… Lukas? You? As in the Lukas family?”</p><p>“One and the same. We’ve been major supporters to the Magnus Institute for decades.” Peter smiled, but someone the expression was so hollow it gave the exact opposite impression it should have.</p><p>James interrupted the awkward conversation by bringing in dinner, and Elias was grateful for the distraction.</p><p>The food was good, and beyond a few murmured words between James and Peter, mostly quiet. He’d brought red wine, as suggested, and had taken the sommelier's word as gospel, being more of a shots-of-vodka guy himself. James seemed pleased by the selection, at the very least, so he didn’t feel too bad about draining his own glass a little too quickly to cope with the anxiety he felt. James had just poured him another glass in response, so maybe he was in the clear.</p><p>Though, from what he knew about drinking, one and a half glasses of wine on a full stomach definitely shouldn’t have been affecting him like this. His vision was swimming, turning his head leaving him dizzy as James got up to bring in the dessert. Some fancy chocolate thing with raspberries. He smelled booze on it, and dug in as soon as it was polite.</p><p>“Elias, I’d like to congratulate you.” James’ voice came to him, filtering through the monochrome daze threatening to filter over his senses. </p><p>He looked up from his half eaten dessert, swaying in his seat at the movement. “Wha’?”</p><p>“Ten years working for the Magnus Institute. I’m quite impressed with you, you know.”</p><p>He was seeing double, blinking hard against the light. “It’s been ten years?” He slurred.</p><p>The only thing he could see clearly were James’ eyes, too sharp and too focused and good fucking <em> god </em> there were so many. “I think it’s far past time to give you a proper promotion.”</p><p>“I don’t… I don’t wanna promotion…” he managed to say. At least he tried to say that.</p><p>The eyes laughed. “Oh, nonsense. My retirement has been a long time coming, and I certainly see a successor in you.”</p><p>The ringing in his ears was so violent he thought they might be bleeding. He clutched his hands over them, shutting his eyes tight. “Get out of my head!”</p><p>The Eye was deeply amused. “Oh Elias, I’m not even <em> in </em> your head. Not yet.”</p><p>-</p><p>He woke up in a bed that wasn’t his own, his head splitting in two. He could barely open his eyes for the sharp, clinical light of the room. He stopped trying after a moment. His limbs wouldn’t respond, but he smelled something sharp and chemically. Disinfectant, he concluded after pondering over the smell for a few moments.</p><p>He must be in hospital, he realized, and instantly felt himself relax. Of course. Something must have gone wrong in James’ flat. A seizure, maybe? He’d never had a seizure before, but he’d heard they could be induced due to stress. That must have been it. He’d gone a bit epileptic, and James had called him an ambulance.</p><p>“I’m afraid you woke up before we were ready, Elias.” A voice said, smooth and instantly recognizable. His eyelid was peeled open and a blinding light was shone into it, an acute shot of pain stabbing through his skull. “Ah, good. You’re not responsive enough for it to matter, either way. I suppose that’s an upside to recreational drug use, hm, Elias?” A hand patted him on the cheek, cold and gloved. “This <em> will </em> hurt, I warn you. But in the long run, it won’t matter.”</p><p>He tried to move, to open his eyes, work his mouth to ask James what the <em> hell </em> was going on, when two more hands clamped down onto his head, and something cold and sharp pressed against the outside corner of his left eye.</p><p>The pain was excruciating, a cold metal instrument forced between his eye and its socket. He wanted to thrash, to fight, to scream and cry and all he could do was gurgle pathetically and twitch as his eyes were carefully, surgically removed. Something hot and wet was running down his face, the sharp smell of iron overpowering the reek of disinfectant. His stomach lurched, and for a moment he was afraid he’d vomit and suffocate, unable to turn himself onto his side, but nothing came up.</p><p>“<em> Do </em> be gentle with them, Peter, they’re the only eyes I have,” came James’ voice, filtering through the cloud of pain and horror Elias felt. The was some kind of affirming grunt from Peter. Elias tried to count the seconds in his head, but the throbbing, stabbing pain in his eye sockets kept throwing off his count.</p><p>Finally, a weight shifted next to him, and he felt someone peeling his blood-slick eyelids open. The cold air on the wound added a fresh layer of agony to the ordeal, and he felt his stomach wrench once more.</p><p>Elias whimpered, pathetically loud to his own ears, and Peter’s voice came in a mockery of comfort. “Come now, you weren’t using your life for much of anything, were you? Couldn’t even be lonely enough to save yourself. This is the greatest thing you'll ever be part of, I guarantee it.”</p><p>Something was pressed into his eye socket, something round and warm and the pain skyrocketed to a level that actually squeezed a scream from his unresponsive lungs.</p><p>“Frankly impressive you haven’t passed out yet, but really, what better sacrifice to The Watcher than to be awake for this?” His right eyelid was peeled open, and he found enough strength in himself to move his arm, to grasp weakly at his tormentor.</p><p>“P-... please…” he gasped out. “Sto… stop…”</p><p>Peter snorted, and finally, as his new eye was slotted into place, Elias sunk into painless darkness.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my guy just wanted weed money and instead he got Got :/ smdh</p></blockquote></div></div>
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